The Case for Courage
Mornin', everyone. I've gotten quite a few emails about my comments on Rafael Nadal's record take of ATP World Tour Masters titles, and my attempt to put them in context. I also received a number from women and men protesting yesterday's quip about the, er, non-tennis-related elements in Rafa's appeal. Now I don't really think of myself as in instigator or pot-stirrer; many readers forget or don't know that I see myself as having one job, and one job only: to write about whatever it is that I find interesting at the moment. That's my lodestar, no matter where it takes me.
Granted, I'll sometimes feel obliged to write about a topic or person because it seems imperative, in terms of the mission statement and of this weblog. I can't sit around indulging in navel-gazing all day. But while I take my cues from what seems the most important news of the day, what I write is never calculated to incite, even though I know as I'm trying to articulate my thoughts that it might. I don't think that's a valid reason to shy away from a subject.
With that in mind, let me ask you this: Just how popular would Rafa be if he had, say, Novak Djokovic's hair, Andy Murray's teeth, and Nicolas Almagro's body? In other words, how much of Nadal's popularity has to do with how he looks instead of purely how he plays, and his charisma in general? This isn't as superficial a subject as it may seem, I don't think, because it leads us to valid questions about how much of what we profess to like is based on substance (in this case, a particular style of play and body of results) and how much on image (and not in the pejorative sense of that word). To wit, would we be less willing to embrace Rafa's style of play if he were a less arresting and charming personality?
It's funny, but you can ask the same question about Roger Federer and I think you come up with a different answer. His game itself is so aesthetically pleasing that it actually overshadows the physical particulars and considerable personal charisma of the man playing it. I'm not certain you can say the same for Rafa.
Now, before any of you Rafa fans get your shorts all in a bunch, let me spell this out clearly: I like Rafa's game; these days - and it wasn't always like this - I put a premium on athleticism, power and efficiency (there's plenty of room to argue that Nadal's game isn't especially "efficient," but never mind - he makes it work). And most of all, I admire and respect courage. But I also wonder how much more palatable Rafa's muscular, grinder's game is to tennis fans at large because of his charisma. Put Rafa's game into the package of a homely guy with skinny arms and a less photogenic face and you have to wonder if he'd enjoy anything like the same popularity.
Okay, I had a eureka! moment writing this last paragraph. Maybe the main source of Nadal's appeal is neither his game, nor his personal appeal. Perhaps it's what we might call his courage - the impression he creates that he's leaving it all out there, relying on will and hope as well as talent and skill. That's a pretty easy thing to overlook or miss entirely, because courage is really a sub-text, compared to Nadal's other, more conspicuous attributes. And that's not true just of Nadal.
Federer has suffered from this aspect of Nadal's appeal, just as he suffers from his own ability to reach important clay-court semis and finals while Nadal has yet to show Federerian consistency on hard and indoor courts. We really look for and expect to find courage in the underdog, not the favorite - the favorite is the guy who's there to be beaten. Nadal is tailor-made to play the eternally striving, hopeful challenger - the prize-fighter getting his face beaten into raw hamburger but always returning for more, because he has a big heart. In a way, it's also a role suited for a child or puppy, a being in whom naked, untempered, often obviously futile desire is unstoppable, irrational - and often touching. This dynamic certainly played an enormous role in the early efforts and successes of Rafa's.
And while defending requires just as much courage (see, The Alamo), it isn't as apparent as the courage required of the underdog, nor is it, by definition, of the same order of magnitude - which is why people root for the underdog. Of course, Nadal can no longer tug at our heartstrings quite so effectively in that role, and shedding it without losing some of his drive, energy and emotional and mental power is to me the most significant theme in his psychological journey as a champion.
But lest Federer fans get too smug on this subject, let's also remember that in that string of French Open final battles with Nadal, Federer hasn't had, or conveyed, a comparable sense of courage or determination. You can put that down to the Xs and Os of technique and even strategy. But if you knew nothing about either of these guys and a little something about tennis, and I showed you video of Federer and Nadal, you'd be no more inclined to identify Nadal as a guy with a great grass-court game than you would say Federer has an obviously lethal clay-court game. Yet Nadal has competed much more robustly against Federer on grass than Federer has against Nadal on clay.
Details like this help to build the case for Nadal's courage; if you were to play a game of word association using the names of these two guys, I imagine Nadal would elicit words like determination, courage, strength, stamina, heat. . . while Federer would skew more toward brilliance, skill, talent, nerve, cool. . . If you look at those words I just wrote, they're surprisingly similar, forming something like a mirror-image of each other, even though one set (Nadal's) is more direct and visceral, the other more subtle and restrained.
As is the case in many similar comparisons having nothing to do with tennis, these contemplations lead you back to that brilliant essay of Friedrich Nietzsche (not to go all pretentious on you, but . . . ), The Birth of Tragedy. It's an essay anyone given to reflection ought to be familiar with, because if it doesn't exactly qualify as universal truth, it helps explain something like a universally found duality. Nietzsche's famous essay (ostensibly, it's about how the Greek dramatists found their show-biz mojo) focuses on the clash of two different modes of being or ways of apprehending and engaging the world, represented by Greek gods - the Dionysian (named for Dionysus, the Greek god of wine and grapes) and Apollo (the god of light and sun, truth and prophecy). The conflict is between the explosive and calm, the hot and the cold, the bacchanalian and the contemplative, between abandon and revelry and moderation and restraint.
Nadal, in these terms, is a Dionysian character, while Federer is Apollonian. That we can see them in this juxtaposition helps explain, among other things, why I'm girding up for yet another round of a few hundred comments, many by those who lack a sufficient appreciation for the existence, value and implications of this duality. When you're talking about Federer and Nadal, you're not just talking about two different styles and two different personalities. You're talking about two different poles of attraction, with most of us drawn more powerfully to one or the other. And since this attraction is deep and atavistic, it's easy to assume that it's the only or at least most valid one.
That's alright, though, because one of the beauties of this apparent "either/or" proposition, this "Federer or Nadal, take your pick" challenge, is that it drives emotion, debate, and fan loyalty. It creates tension, which as Nietzsche wrote, is the great driver of tragedy - as well a the great driver of creativity and interest. And there's a yin and yang relationship and dynamic at work here. Were it not for Federer and Nadal, both men would be diminished and either of them, at various times, could say there's nobody out there worth beating up on
So let's move on. . .
Bobby Chintapalli will be previewing the French Open women's draw tomorrow, and I'll be doing something - not sure what exactly, yet - with the man. And we'll be recording a new podcast parsing the draws and looking forward to the start of Roland Garros on Sunday. I'll be traveling to Paris a week from Sunday to provide live coverage of the second week of the tournament.
And Jackie-Oh will once again run TennisWorld's division of the Talk About Tennis Suicide Pool. It's become quite a tradition around here an I encourage all of you to take a whack at it.